


not on purpose

by onceuponamoon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Desperation, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Name-Calling, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very first time it happens, it is one hundred percent <i>not</i> on purpose.</p><p>Kent falls asleep half on Jack, and Jack knows well enough by now that Kent turns into a koala when he’s sleeping, so when he finally wakes up, it’s to Jack squirming and making these tiny noises of distress, but not actually doing anything to truly move Kent off of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not on purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try not be ashamed of the fact that I wrote this but. Ya know. 
> 
> Thanks to robokittens for the cheerleading, for looking it over, and for not hating me since this clearly this isn't less than 3K.

The very first time it happens, it is one hundred percent _not_ on purpose.

Kent falls asleep half on Jack, and Jack knows well enough by now that Kent turns into a koala when he’s sleeping, so when he finally wakes up, it’s to Jack squirming and making these tiny noises of distress, but not actually doing anything to truly move Kent off of him. 

“Fuck off,” Kent grumbles, words tasting like roadkill. “The fuck are you doing?” He flexes his arm and leg, holding Jack still even though he’s kind of panting similar to the way he does when he’s getting his ass eaten. Which Kent would know all about, considering that’s exactly what went down last night, following it up by straddling Jack’s hips and coming all over his chest. It was actually pretty late, or early, whatever, which is precisely why Kent’s pissy – they should be sleeping. “ _Stop moving._ ”

Jack, though, just kind of grunts and says, “Let me up, I gotta pee.”

Which, oh. Okay.

Kent doesn’t immediately let him go, because he’s kind of busy having an epiphany and all, but Jack makes another anguished noise, and for fuck’s sake, Kent’s an asshole, but he doesn’t actually _want_ Jack to wet the bed. He’d have to buy a new mattress and memory foam is fucking expensive. 

Belatedly, Kent realizes he still hasn’t let go and Jack’s _really_ squeezing the fuck out of Kent’s wrist even as he’s squirming against Kent’s morning wood and – Kent lets go.

Jack bolts, doesn’t even close the door, because apparently he had to go _that bad_.

 _Huh_ , Kent thinks, and then, _whatever_. 

 

*

 

But then he thinks about it for days and days after, kind of reviewing the way Jack guzzles water like it’s his job – which, it’s part of it, of course; hydration is important – and doesn’t exactly get up to go piss half as often as anyone else should if they were drinking that much. Sometimes he catches Jack all pink-cheeked and looking all secretly coy in a very Canadian-robot way that, Kent knows from experience, means Jack’s a little bit turned on. But then Jack’ll shift a bit and maybe crack a smile at one of Jeff’s chirps, even though Jeff is a total fucking dickwad, and Kent will forget about it a little bit. At least until Jack shoves out of the booth and heads to the bathroom. 

“What’s that face for, Parser?”

“Fuck off, Jeff.”

“No way, man,” Jeff says, sounding somehow even more Canadian than Jack. “Spill it, eh?”

“No,” Kent says. “At least it’s better than yours. Fuck you.”

Jack comes back and Jeff monopolizes his time up until Kent tugs Jack up by the hand and takes him home – because fuck those guys, he hardly ever gets to see Jack – and then makes him pack since Kent has to take him to the airport so goddamn early. After that, Kent presses him into the mattress and fucks him from behind because that’s the only way Jack has ever been able to come without a hand on his dick.

 

*

 

So like, Kent’s not bitter or anything, but he is a little bit jealous that Jack spends the rest of his time of the year split between Bitty and his parents, but like. Bitty’s cool and Bob and Alicia only hate Kent just a little bit. But, and Kent won’t admit it or anything, his house feels kind of empty when Jack’s not there.

Which is a lot.

Whatever.

But _Bitty’s cool_. He’s cool enough that he was the one to call Kent and say, “I’m sendin’ Jack to stay with you for a little while. Leave any permanent marks on him an’ there’ll be hell to pay,” in the first place. Kent had been kind of confused, but he’d picked Jack up at the airport with a grin and a hug, took him back home, and practically cried out of sheer relief when Jack crowded him up against the wall and dropped to his knees. He even let Kent fuck his mouth, which was pretty awesome.

And by the time Kent had sent Jack back home to fucking Providence, Bitty was texting him with a _thanks for takin care of him :)_ so Kent doesn’t think he’d fucked up their relationship, or whatever. Which. Why the fuck would Jack’s boyfriend thank his ex for fucking his boyfriend? That’s a little weird, right? _But whatever_ , Kent thought at the time, _gift horse_. 

So now, it’s a thing they do and Bitty’ll coordinate the whole shebang and Kent likes to think he sends Jack back to him a little happier and a little more dazed. It’s pretty cool.

Except for how, when it happens the next time, Jack kneels in front of Kent all weirdly still until Kent says, “What the fuck are you waiting for?” and kind of shoves Jack’s face into his crotch. And he knows it’s kind of a dick move, but Jack groans and nuzzles Kent through his jeans, so obviously he’s into it.

Jack tends to take his time on blowjobs, weirdly focused like he is on the ice, but Kent has other things in mind, so he drags Jack up to the bedroom and fucks him good and hard. Then, loose-limbed, Kent herds him out to the living room for Call of Duty and dinner, handing Jack a water from the fridge.

And that’s when he remembers.

“Hey, so, question,” Kent says.

“Answer,” Jack retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me you sack of shit,” Kent says – because it’s something he’d normally say – only this time he’s actually looking really closely at Jack so he sees how his cheeks and ears go a little pink. “Okay – _that_.”

Jack’s definitely still pink. “What.” And avoiding Kent’s eyes.

“The – with the. How you’re all.” Kent waves a hand, approximating Jack as a whole. “Why?”

Shrugging, Jack says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Which, “Alright,” fucking fine, Kent can use his words. “Why do you hold it?” He’s silent and normally, Kent would be afraid that Jack was going to get all moody and tell Kent to fuck off but, well. “Quit the squirming and answer me,” Kent demands.

“I don’t fucking _know_ , Parse, alright? _Crisse_.” Jack looks more and more embarrassed by the second, but he’s also breathing kind of hard and Kent can’t exactly tell if it’s because he’s pissed or turned on. “Just. Drop it, okay?”

Kent does. For now. Jack goes back to methodically eating his chicken while Kent eyes him and pointedly doesn’t apologize. He can’t help but notice that Jack looks marginally disappointed.

 

*

 

So, Kent waits a few days. He’s a little meaner to Jack than any situation really calls for, but he notices that Jack’s cheeks are pretty much always flushed and he has this secret smile when he thinks Kent’s not looking. 

They hang out like bros and catch up and shit-talk each other as they play Mario Kart -- with Kent sprawled across the couch while Jack’s sitting on the floor just close enough to catch an errant elbow every now and then – up until the moment Jack says, “Pause it; I gotta pee.” 

Kent says, “No,” sending a blue shell up to fuck Jack out of first place. He crows in victory when he crosses the finish line first and starts another course before Jack gets the chance to get up. The shit-talking pretty much stops after that, a weird, heavy silence taking its place.

It’s three more races before Jack’s squirming enough to distract Kent, and when Kent glances at him, he’s definitely turned on – pupils blown, biting his lip, squirming in place _turned the fuck on_. 

Which, hey. Kent can work with that.

“Best seven out of ten,” Kent says, selecting Moo Moo Meadows with the huge cows because it’s fucking hilarious and he can kick Jack’s ass at it.

“Parse –”

“ _No._ ” Kent eyes Jack, watching as he shifts in place and takes a deep breath, holding Kent’s gaze.

Jack swallows hard, whispers, “Okay,” and lets Kent start the race.

Seven out of ten turns into Kent doesn’t even fucking _know_ how many. He just knows he isn’t stopping until Jack cries uncle or pisses his pants. Kent doesn’t know which one he’d like to see more. Honestly, he’s a little bit tired of losing, but he’s also hard as hell in his shorts and Jack’s started making all of these tiny, cut-off noises in his throat, alternating between panting and swallowing hard. But he doesn’t look like he’s actually going to give up anytime soon.

Basically, it all comes down to the fact that Kent’s impatient. And a man of action.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” he says, hopping up over the back of the couch. “I mean it, don’t fucking move, Zimms.”

“Fine, fuck,” Jack says, “okay.” 

Kent just raises an eyebrow and adjusts himself in his pants. He hightails it to the kitchen, grabs a couple of waters, sends a quick _??????_ text to Bitty and drinks one of them while he waits for a response. Jack’s probably up there squirming and sweating and Kent is so turned on he could _die_.

Bitty calls. “Everything alright?” he asks warily.

“I don’t know,” Kent blurts. “Is this a – a thing, you guys do? The – where he.”

Bitty’s exasperated eye-roll is practically audible. Or maybe it’s just the sigh. Either way, Bitty says slowly, “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that sometimes he needs a firmer hand than I’m willin’ to give him. You really think I’d share him otherwise?”

And well. No. Because it’s Jack. Kent definitely wouldn’t share him if he were Bitty and had first dibs. “Okay. But what about the –”

“Look, Parse. Obviously, and Lord only knows why, but I trust you enough with him that I’m not too selfish to keep him from what he wants. I’m trusting you to _give him_ what he wants.” Bitty’s next sigh crackles through the line. “Stop keepin’ him waitin’ and go take care of him.”

 _Right_ , Kent thinks. “Right.” Okay.

“And Kent?”

“Yeah?”

Bittle sounds downright chirpy when he says, “Take _care_ of him afterwards, or you’ll need someone to take care of _you_ when I’m done with you. Got it?”

He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the counter, taking a deep breath, and then traipses back into the living room with all the confidence he can muster along with a full water bottle for Jack. Kent tosses it to him and watches his cheeks go red, his bitten lower lip dropping open just a tiny bit more like he honestly can’t believe Kent’s doing this to him. And, yeah buddy, he totally is.

“Drink up,” Kent says. He flops down back into his spot on the couch and switches the TV back over to cable so he can pretend to keep up with the Kardashians. 

“Kenny,” Jack says – only it’s definitely more of a whimper. “I can’t.”

“You _can_ ,” Kent says, turning up the volume a couple of notches. “Then you’re either going to wait thirty more minutes or piss your pants, but either way you’re not moving from that spot on the floor.”

Jack _definitely_ whimpers.

But he does as Kent says, chugging it down by the time the next episode starts playing. The water bottle crinkles as Jack caps it, setting it on the coffee table directly in front of him with shaking hands.

“Thirty minutes,” Kent says.

Jack makes it all of five – _five_ – before he’s saying, “I can’t, I can’t, Kenny, _please_.”

Kent scoffs. “Christ, you’re worthless. Couldn’t even make it five minutes before you started begging.” He sits forward, elbows on his knees to peer down at Jack. “You know that’s pathetic, right?”

“A-ah, fuck,” Jack says, following it up with a wounded noise. He shakes out a breath and clenches his fists so hard his knuckles go white, squirming in place even as he squeezes his eyes shut. “No, I-I’m not.”

Kent reaches out, runs his fingers through the hair falling into Jack’s eyes, pushing it back and grinning to himself when Jack pushes back against Kent’s hand like he’s pissed Kent’s trying to touch him. 

So, Kent really can’t be blamed for giving Jack’s hair a tug, mostly because he knows it’s a surefire way to make Jack gasp – “Just like that,” Kent says aloud, which, he doesn’t really mean to, but whatever. He can make it work for him. “Sound so good like this.” Kent winds his fingers tighter into Jack’s hair and leans in close, pressing a kiss to Jack’s temple even as he wrenches his head back. “But you know it’s just pitiful, right? Gonna piss your pants ‘cause you can’t hold it; that’s just embarrassing.”

Jack keeps squirming in place, biting at his lip with all of these half-choked whimpers. “F-fuck you.”

“No,” Kent says, giving Jack’s hair another tug, “Your dick’s not coming anywhere near me, babe. Not ‘til I know you can control yourself.”

Honestly, Kent doesn’t even know how to classify the noise that Jack makes at that. It’s this low, throaty thing that could almost be a growl if, maybe, Jack didn’t look so suddenly determined even as a sheen of sweat breaks out over his forehead. He’s got to be aching by now, if the way that he’s half hunched in on himself, outright _holding_ himself to keep from pissing is anything to go by. 

“Hmm,” Kent muses, tugging Jack’s head to the side so he can mouth at his neck. The skin’s just sweaty enough to have that tiny tang of salt, smelling clean like the body wash Jack brings with him -- Old Spice, maybe -- that Kent can’t help the little groan he gives when his lips skid down the line of his throat. “You know...it’s only twenty more minutes. Just think, that’s one last period of regulation.” 

It’s worth it to hear Jack’s breath hitch again when Kent trails his teeth and tongue up the line of Jack’s jaw.

It’s even better when Jack reaches back over his shoulder with one hand, grasping at Kent’s shoulder with the hand not busy squeezing his dick into submission. His body’s trembling and he just seems so _desperate_ \-- it’s heady as fuck.

“Just think. It’s the last stretch,” Kent whispers, blowing cool air over the overheated skin just behind Jack’s ear. “You won the face-off, Zimms. All you’ve got to do is last the period, stay on the ice, no penalties.”

Jack cries out and it’s a sound of half-misery, half...relief?

Kent looks down and sees -- yep, Jack’s thighs are trembling and when he readjusts the grip on his dick Kent _really_ sees and -- “Christ, Jack, I’m just trying to help you out and then you go and -- move your hand,” Kent bites out, swallowing hard when he sees the tiny dark spot against the fabric of Jack’s sweats. It is, somehow, way hotter than it has any right to be. “You’ve gotta do better than that, baby. Don’t you want to make me happy?”

At that, something breaks in Jack. “I _do_.” He gives this full-bodied shiver and his breath shatters out into this wretched little sob that would maybe break Kent’s heart if he weren’t busy trying not to come in his pants. “I do, I’m sorry Kenny, I’ll do better, I --”

Jack _shakes_ in Kent’s arms and Kent leans in, pressing a kiss to the top of Jack’s head.

“Zimms, Zimms, Zimms,” Kent tuts, “just. Five more minutes. Think you can last five more minutes?”

Nodding, Jack clutches tighter at Kent’s shoulder, his fingernails digging in hard enough for Kent to worry, vaguely, about the marks the guys’ll see in the locker room. But, honestly. Kent doesn’t care. They all know he’s fucking Jack; now they’ll just know how roughly. 

Desperate, keening, Jack turns his face into Kent’s neck and pants out, “Tell me I can do it,” all rough and pleading.

“I don’t think you _can_ though, baby. Look,” Kent says, tugging Jack’s hair so he’s freed from hiding, “look at what you did already.” Jack makes a distraught noise but Kent powers through, “That was only five minutes in, Zimms. That’s fucking pathetic and you know it.”

“ _No_ ,” Jack sobs out, clutching at Kent’s arm. “I can --”

He starts pleading in French that Kent can’t understand, eyes glassy with unspilled tears, his voice thick as all get out. It’s -- in a way it’s disheartening, like Kent’s not doing anything to alleviate this pain for Jack, leaving him high and dry, but it’s alternately satisfying this deep, sick thing in Kent’s gut. Maybe it’s a power thing; maybe it’s a power over _Jack_ thing. Either way, Kent’s feeling weirdly validated --

At least up until the moment the tears begin to spill.

“Alright, Zimms,” Kent says, kissing the sweaty hair against Jack’s temple just before he stands. “Up ya get.” He extends a hand to Jack, gets him up on unsteady legs and -- Kent’s breath hitches when Jack lets out another pained noise and his hands go immediately back to his crotch, squeezing, and pants between sobs. Kent’s voice is more than a little strained when he says, “Bathroom, c’mon.”

Jack takes maybe a step and a half before he doubles over, breath coming so fast that Kent’s actually a little worried that he might be hyperventilating.

“It’s alright, Jack,” Kent says, rubbing between the tense lines of Jack’s shoulders where the muscles bunched into thick knots. “Just a little bit longer and -- it’s gonna feel so much better.” It takes a few moments before Kent’s able to shepherd Jack down the hall and into the ensuite. He pauses every few steps, hips twisting and grunting like this is taking as much out of him a full day of bag skate. “Almost there, baby.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m –”

“Hush,” Kent barks, a bit more bite than he’d intended, but it gets the job done. “C’mon, just gotta get you in the tub and you’re golden, babe. Just a few more steps, you got it.” A bit more ushering gets Jack to step over the edge of the bathtub and – 

Staring Kent straight in the face, expression pinched, Jack’s sob is one of pure relief as his knees buckle and the dark patch blooms, elongates -- but Jack’s legs really do give out and so Kent’s view is cut off by the way he’s suddenly shouldering half of Jack’s weight, easing him down to sit in the tub. Glimpses of it distract Kent from the hitchy way Jack breathes up until the moment Jack clutches desperately at Kent’s shirt and drags him into a kiss. It’s searing and steadying, but Kent’s – this is his show. Not Jack’s.

Pulling back, Kent grasps Jack’s jaw, looking him straight in the eye as he says, “Did I say you could fucking kiss me?”

In response, Jack shudders and squeezes his eyes shut. Tears eke out, trailing over the crests of his cheekbones. 

When he looks down, Kent’s privy to the sight of Jack sitting, shaking, in a puddle of his own piss and -- he’s still going, Kent realizes a little belatedly. Jack’s literally trembling, flushed so red, and crying his little heart out. 

“ _Christ._ ”

For a second, Kent flounders. But. Jack would tell him if it was too much. He has to trust in that.

After a quick look that Kent hopes in his gut translates that thought process, he starts spouting off all the filth that comes to mind. It’s not hard at all when he’s watching Jack shiver and shake, crying like Kent’s doing more than just saying things like, “Look at you,” and, “Not gonna be able to take you anywhere, huh?” and “God, you’re so embarrassing. Can’t even control your own bladder.”

But the sobbing. It’s – maybe it’s more than Kent can handle. At least this first time.

Heat settles low in Kent’s gut as he thinks about how, if the feedback he gets after this is all said and done doesn’t make him feel like a complete and total asshole then there will be a next time. Maybe more than one and, well. Kent’s a lot more excited about the prospect than he would’ve thought. It might’ve started out as an unintentional thing, but it’ll sure as hell happen again – on purpose, from now on, if Kent’s got anything to say about it.

Kent’s voice sounds like rust, scraped through gravel when he whispers, “Can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Zimms,” against Jack’s temple, lips dragging through the damp hair. “God, you had to go so bad, huh?”

While it simultaneously feels like it lasts forever, it’s over soon enough and Kent’s a little bit at a loss.

Jack’s just sitting there, tears streaming over the pink crests of his cheeks, in a puddle of his own piss. He looks absolutely miserable. Humiliated.

It makes Kent’s breath hitch in his chest.

Pushing up from the edge of the tub, Kent’s just about fully upright when Jack gives another whimper and fists his hand into Kent’s shirt, giving him a look that says, “Please don’t leave me,” in a way that he’d never voice. And it --

It makes the humiliation a little less enticing, and a lot more pitiful. It’s probably got something to do with Jack’s default kicked-puppy eyes, but Christ. 

“Hey, chill Zimms,” Kent says, going back to kneeling against the tub, petting a hand over Jack’s sweaty hair. It’s kind of gross, but well. All things considered, it’s not the grossest thing going on right now. “I’m right here. Not gonna leave you, babe.” And even though Jack had been guzzling water, it still, well. _Smells like piss_. Kent’s nose wrinkles and he tries to think of the best way to take care of Jack’s clothes without trailing a puddle or stinking up his bathroom or -- “Hey, give me just two seconds, alright? I’m gonna go get a laundry basket for your clothes. While I’m gone, take ‘em off, fold ‘em up, put ‘em on the edge of the tub, okay?”

Not meeting Kent’s eyes, Jack nods.

Kent probably shouldn’t find that so irksome, but hey. He does. So he repeats, “ _Okay?_ ” just to get Jack to look at him, hold the eye contact, and say, “Okay,” in response. “Alright,” Kent says, mildly satisfied, “after that we’ll get you all cleaned up.”

Again, quietly, Jack says, “Okay.” The apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are still dusted pink, and when Kent takes a moment to glance down, he sees that, yeah, it’s at least partially due to arousal. 

It’s a line of thought Kent has to table. At least for now.

The laundry room is basically on the opposite end of the house and Kent hightails it there fast enough that he nearly slides straight into the washing machine. While he’s eyeing the laundry basket in the corner, he toes off his socks and strips out of his shirt. After dumping the entire contents of the laundry basket – grimy shorts, sweat-damp under armour, flannels that still smell a bit like the beer that leggy brunette had spilled on him – and a deep breath to chill the fuck out, Kent takes a more sedate pace back to the guest bathroom, empty basket in hand.

When he makes it back, Jack is – 

“Zimms?”

Looking up from his folded arms, Jack’s clearly doing breathing exercises and Kent can tell that it’s relief more than anything that’s letting more tears trail down Jack’s face. He looks a little bit beyond words, overwhelmed, and he’s definitely still trembling, even as Kent approaches.

Kent keeps his voice as quiet as a secret, smoothing Jack’s hair back from his forehead when he says, “You’re alright, baby.” With one hand, Kent tilts Jack’s face into his belly and sets the laundry basket down with the other. “You’re okay.”

Gingerly, Kent scoops the dirty clothes into the basket and uses his foot to push it into the corner. Under the sink there’s a box full of bath shit from Lush that Kent won at a team holiday party. He usually only breaks it out for special occasions, but hey. Jack pissed his pants because Kent wanted him to. That’s a pretty special occasion. 

“I’m breaking out the good shit, Zimms,” Kent says, sifting through the bathbombs until he finds the Phoenix Rising one. It’s bright purple, dusted in gold glitter, and definitely one that Kent hadn’t wanted to use right away because it smells so good. But, whatever. He can share. “If you rinse off for a sec, I’ll get you a robe while I run the bath, alright?”

Jack’s still quivering a bit, teetering unsteadily when he takes the single step toward the faucet. It splutters on, dousing his feet in what must be frigid water -- but whatever, he’s a hockey player. He’s _bathed_ in ice before.

While Jack’s rinsing Kent wonders if he should pull out the cleaning supplies, but. Urine’s sterile. So fuck it. Whatever. It’ll be fine.

The faucet cuts off and Kent grabs his favorite, warmest robe from the back of the door, offering out a hand to Jack so he doesn’t, like, slip and fall and die on the tiles. “Alright,” Kent says, leaning over to turn the water back on, as hot as it’ll go without, like, burning their balls, “I need to get these in the wash before they – yeah. You want to get in my bed or come with me?” When he looks back over his shoulder, Jack’s eyes are flicking up and -- hell yeah, Kent just caught him staring at his ass. Sweet.

Just to see the way Jack’s flush goes a shade deeper, Kent shifts his hips and quirks an eyebrow, delighting in it. “Um,” Jack says, averting his eyes again, “with you.”

Kent nods, but doesn’t say anything, too...wary of whatever might tumble out of his mouth. Like _good, that’s where you belong_ or maybe the disgustingly possessive _I wasn’t actually going to let you out of my sight_. Instead, Kent just scoops up the basket and lets Jack trail so closely behind him that he steps on his heels more than once and bumps into his back when Kent stops in the doorway of the laundry room. It makes him huff a laugh, and as quiet as it is, Kent has to backcheck Jack just to get him to do it again. 

While Kent’s busy loading up the washer, Jack’s so quiet that Kent would probably have forgotten he was even in the room if he weren’t sticking close enough to touch the entire time. Jack moves around Kent in a way that’s so fluid, so much like second-nature for them that Kent might accidentally add a bit too much detergent, getting lost in wistful thoughts.

Once he turns the dial and the water starts pouring onto the clothes, Kent turns and says, “Hey, come here,” as he tugs at the belt of the robe.

Jack looks -- he looks great, honestly, standing there in the dim light of the laundry room, feet bare on the tile as he ducks his head in attempt to obscure his tiny smile. His eyes are still a little red from crying, his cheeks less flushed and more just splotchy, and he just. He’s looking at Kent like he did something great.

Kent swallows around the roughness in his throat. “Let’s go take a bath, yeah?”

“Sure,” Jack says.

With one hand still tucked into the belt, Kent leads the way back into the bathroom, crowding Jack up against the sink so he can watch Kent watch him as he unties the robe and slips it from Jack’s shoulders. Kent presses a tiny kiss to Jack’s shoulder and then goes to turn off the water, watching steam rise from the surface for a few moments. “Hand me that, will you?” Kent asks, hand outstretched toward the bath bomb sitting on the counter beside the sink. 

Eyebrows furrowing, Jack picks it up and -- Kent bursts into giggles, says, “Dude, it’s not gonna bite you, c’mon.” Jack forks it over, still looking a little dubious about the whole thing. Kent rolls his eyes. “C’mere. Watch.”

It doesn’t splash too terribly much when Kent plops the thing into the bath water, but it’s loud and Jack flinches just a little bit. The bath bomb sinks all the way to the bottom of the tub, immediately fizzing and releasing this intensely lovely cinnamon smell --

“Won’t that, uh, stain the tub?” Jack asks. “And us?”

Kent shrugs. “Who cares. _Treat yourself_ , and all that.” It doesn’t look like Jack recognizes that that’s a reference to the greatest show on television, so of course Kent rolls his eyes. He tugs Jack closer to where he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, pressing his face against the cut of Jack’s hip.

Humming, Jack brings a hand up to trace his fingers over the freckles at Kent’s nape and then he says quietly, “It smells like Eric.”

“Oh, right,” Kent says, snorting. There might be a tinge of jealousy, of wistfulness again, but Kent tamps it down, not wanting to say anything to ruin the aura of relaxation. “Baked goods and all.” 

“Apple pie,” Jack says. 

The water’s sufficiently colorful, the bomb still fizzing a little bit, mostly down to the teal inside bit, so Kent stands to strip off his shorts and then steps into the tub, sliding down until he’s leaning back against the back edge. “Maybe I should’ve whipped out the candles, some rose petals, a little Marvin Gaye…”

Jack barks a laugh, loud, like it surprised him, and Kent’s only able to grin helplessly back. 

Extending a hand, Kent keeps smiling at Jack even as he steps in, turns his back to Kent’s front so they can slot up together in the oversized tub. The water’s precariously close to the edge once he’s settled, but Kent doesn’t really care.

For a while they just relax together, Jack’s head tilted back onto Kent’s shoulder, nothing but sharp lines and slick skin. Kent loves it, loves having Jack this close, even if it’s only an illusion, just temporary. His fingers skip up and down Jack’s sides, immersed in water to keep the touch light but not ticklish. Jack sighs and seems to melt, just a bit, beneath Kent’s touch. 

“You were really good for me, Jack,” Kent murmurs against Jack’s skin. “You know that, right?”

Jack turns his head, blinking tiredly as a small smile plays at his lips. “Thanks.”

“This was...did you –” Kent takes a breath to steady himself, rolling his eyes at how dumb he sounds. He’s a firm believer in the idea of how it’s easier to talk to someone when you don’t have to look them in the eye, so he can only imagine what he’d sound like if he and Jack were facing each other. “You liked that, right? I’m not – I mean, I’m not asking you to make fun of you, or anything, I just. Was that something you liked or...?” He trails off, letting the question hang while he tucks his chin over Jack’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Jack’s middle.

“I…” Jack says, shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug, “I didn’t hate it.” He blows out a breath like there’s more he wants to say, but Kent can be patient. Sometimes. Right now. “It was. I don’t think I’d ever really thought about it like that? The way you – did that. It was. More intense than I’d thought it’d be.” 

Jack shrugs again. Kent’s teeth clack together from the movement.

The pause sits heavily between them, just the gentle shush of water and the fading fizz from the bath bomb. Kent breaks it, asking, “Room for improvement or never again?”

“I -- no,” Jack says, huffing a laugh again. It carries off a bit of the tension Kent had been carrying along his shoulders. “It was good, Kenny. Really. I just.” He blows out a breath, turning his head to look at Kent. “It’s weird...right? To like that.”

“Hey, whatever. It’s not like we’re hurting anyone or doing anything illegal. I mean,” Kent says, smirking, “I’m pretty sure what you did with your fingers last night was illegal in at _least_ ten states, but I won’t tell.” It gets Jack to laugh, wriggling back against Kent’s chest like he’s too pleased to keep still. “Plus, there are people that like weirder shit. I think we’re in the clear.”

Jack’s smile fades, but he’s still got this air of contentment going on. “It’s just, it’s not the. The _pee_ that gets me off, or anything, it’s --”

“The control aspect?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding. “Eric’s. He’s good for me, you know? But there are gaps that he can’t fill, that I don’t _want_ him to fill, because he’s –” Jack waves a wet hand in the humid air, droplets of purple bathwater flinging up onto the tile of the wall. “It’s just different. I like that you’re not afraid to give me what I want. What I...need. Even if it’s something I won’t ask for, or something I don’t want to hear.”

Kent’s pretty sure this is the most he’s heard Jack speak at once since – hell, maybe since Kent came down to Samwell that last time. And that was _definitely_ something Jack hadn’t wanted to hear.

“Anyway,” Jack says dismissively after a wry smile, “yes. I liked it. Good job, eh, Kenny?”

Smothering a snort into Jack’s neck, Kent’s overwhelmed by a wave of fondness. “Gee, thanks.”

After that, they get back to relaxing, sliding into easy chatter about random things like the newest recipes Eric’s made Jack try and Kent’s teammates threatening to take him to Caesar’s Palace, casually skating around the finer details of what went on earlier, but content for now with how things are between them. Little chirps are thrown in, nothing like what Kent had been harshing out before, still feeling a soft, precarious kind of balance, like if he makes one wrong step then Jack’ll burst into broken tears.

Things are still uncharacteristically quiet between them once the bathwater has cooled to tepid and Kent has Jack pull the plug while he leans over for towels, at least until Jack snorts and says, “Monogrammed towels, Parse. Seriously?”

Kent shrugs, shameless, and drops his own to the tile, trailing bare-assed into his bedroom without waiting for Jack.

Kit finally makes an appearance, dropping down from the shelving above Kent’s bed to plop onto his pillow, purring so loudly that Kent has no choice but to go and pet her. Kent hears Jack’s obnoxious, “Aww,” from where he’s standing at the doorway, but it doesn’t stop him from scooping Kit up and scritching under her chin. Smirking, eyeing Jack’s body, Kent walks casually past him and across the house into the laundry room dropping Kit off on top of the warm washer while he tugs the cat food down from a high shelf.

Though he’d known Jack was there, it still surprises Kent when Jack steps in behind him, hands on Kent’s hips, soft cock nestled against Kent’s ass. Jack presses a kiss to Kent’s shoulder, reciprocal to easy affection Kent had shown him in the bathtub, and then takes the bag from Kent’s hands.

“Mind if I get it for her?” Jack asks quietly.

Kent shakes his head. “Go right ahead.”

He busies himself switching Jack’s clothes into the dryer, doubling up on the dryer sheets, trying to quell the affection thumping through his chest when he hears Jack’s cooed, “Hey, pretty girl,” and the excited meow Kit gives as she hops from the washer and winds through Kent’s legs over to Jack. 

Arms crossed, leaning against the dryer, Kent muses on whether or not this should be weird. Doing laundry and feeding the cat, naked after taking a bath together, and all of that after essentially forcing Jack to -- yeah, he decides. It’s weird. Surreal, even, because it might be something Kent’s dreamed about, wanted for years and it’s happening now, even if it’s just temporary.

Jack straightens, face a little flushed with exertion, and smiles softly at Kent while Kit starts crunching on her grain-free salmon. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Kent says, straightening and pushing off from the door frame. “Wanna nap?”

Shrugging, Jack just keeps eyeing Kent, but he does follow once Kent leads the way back to his bedroom. 

Kent’s sheets aren’t luxury silk or anything, but they’re really soft and cool when he slides into them, and that’s really all he cares about. That, and the fact that Jack gives a satisfied little groan each time he follows Kent into them. 

Being in his bed after a bath makes Kent feel all kinds of lazy and whereas he’d normally just flip over and hump the sheets, it’s nice to know that Jack probably wouldn’t say no if Kent wanted to start something. And he does. Low-key arousal, less intense once they’d gotten into the bath, has been thrumming through Kent and it takes almost nothing for his breath to hitch and for his cock to start filling out. Just the sight of Jack, flushed and relaxed and maybe even happy, nestled into his sheets and staring at him with a tiny smile and wide blue eyes is more than enough.

“Hey,” Kent says quietly.

Jack echoes it and scoots a little closer, almost nose-to-nose with Kent in the center of his oversized bed. It doesn’t take a lot of effort for Kent to close the gap, press his lips to Jack’s and wind his fingers into Jack’s hair. He bites at Jack’s lip when he tries to use tongue sooner than Kent wants and then rolls on top of him, still keeping the kisses light and chaste even as he slides his hands down Jack’s arms to grip his wrists, hold them over Jack’s head against the pillows.

Kent doesn’t lick into Jack’s mouth until he feels Jack’s dick start to harden beneath his ass, the subtle shifting of Jack’s hips as Kent kisses him deeper, slower. Jack moans into Kent’s mouth and, somehow, goes even more pliant.

Pulling back just to get a look at Jack’s arousal-blown pupils, Kent smirks and asks, “Control, huh?” His lips tingle just a bit, like they’re already plumping up after just a little bit of kissing. It’s not enough to deter him, not nearly enough to keep him from wanting to get right back to it.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, throat working as he swallows hard. He looks from Kent’s eyes to his lips and back, like he can will Kent into getting back with the program.

Kent doesn’t actually give in until Jack bites at his bottom lip, adding his own teeth into the mix. He settles his weight a bit more firmly on Jack, arms and chests still pressed together, but hips and legs now too. Their height difference is just enough for Jack’s hip grooves to give Kent’s dick a little bit of friction, a solid patch of skin and muscle while Kent works his leg between Jack’s thighs. “Yeah,” Kent murmurs. He bites at Jack’s lower lip again and lifts his head, not releasing it until Jack gives a little whimper. “When you’re here, you’re mine.”

Jack’s looking at Kent with this unfathomable expression, eyebrows pinched even as he pants and squirms and flushes all the way down his chest. He nods. “Yeah, Kenny,” he says, “Please.”

Even though Kent pretends to consider it, just to feel the desperate way Jack squirms beneath him, he’s honestly powerless to give Jack anything less than what he wants. He came to terms with that a long time ago. “Sure, babe,” Kent says, bending back to kiss Jack a little bit more. “Wanna make you feel good, since you were so good for me.”

“Lube, get the – please, Kenny,” Jack pants, craning his head back away from Kent’s mouth like his kisses are too much. Like he needs to focus on breathing. Kent just bites at Jack’s neck. “ _Fuck_. Dammit, Kent, c’mon please. Want you to fuck me.”

Kent shifts around a bit, smirking down at Jack once they’re only touching where Kent’s straddling Jack’s hips and where he’s holding Jack down by the wrists. “Love it when you get all cock-hungry, babe. Begging me to slick up and stick it in,” he says, just to watch the way Jack’s eyes pinch shut. “It’s really, _truly_ great.” 

Rooting around in the sheets proves fruitless as far as the lube is concerned, so Kent bites at his lip, trying to remember where he’d put it last (aside from, ya know, Jack’s ass) and ignores the impatient groaning and shifting around that Jack’s doing.

“Oh, shut it,” Kent says, “Unless you know where the fucking lube went.”

It takes a little bit of time, a lot of laughing and shoving at each other before Kent spots it underneath his bed near the headboard, like maybe Kit had knocked it off the shelf earlier and it fell down the crack. The condoms, on the other hand, aren’t so hard to locate, and Kent’s back to shoving Jack, who’s still laughing at Kent’s expense, down onto the bed. He stops laughing in no time, breathing a tiny Québécois curse when Kent lubes up three fingers and starts working them in.

“Not so funny now, huh?” Kent says, bending down to mouth at Jack’s jawline. 

Jack’s not loose anymore, but it doesn’t take more than a few moments of focus for him to relax and bear down on Kent’s fingers. His eyes go out of focus and his mouth drops open, like just the feeling of any part of Kent being inside of him is that overwhelming. 

“How do you want it?” he asks, giving Jack a two-second window to decide before he says, “Too slow. I’ll tell you how you want it.” Kent twists his fingers, spreading them to open Jack up a bit more. He keeps his other hand braced firmly against Jack’s thigh, staring past it right at Jack’s face. “You look pretty like this. On your back, legs in the air like it’s your rightful place in the world. You probably belong like this more than you do on the ice. Bet if I asked Eric, he’d agree with me.” Jack’s trembling again, keyed up in a way Kent loves more than anything. “But I think you want it from the back, huh, Zimms?”

Jack’s too busy groaning deeply and clutching at the pillows to do more than nod wildly.

Kent hums. “Guess you deserve to come,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. He removes his fingers and slaps his lube-sticky hand against Jack’s flank. “Flip over.”

Leg flopping off of Kent’s shoulder, Jack quickly twists and shifts up onto his hands and knees, arching his back until he’s all but nudged up against Kent’s lap. And – 

“Goddamn,” Kent breathes. It’s the kind of view that deserves to be appreciated.

“ _Kent_ ,” Jack says sharply. There’s so much judgment in the way Jack looks at Kent from over his shoulder, the _get on with it_ going unspoken apart for the way that Jack widens his legs a bit more like he’s trying to be even more tempting. Which – not possible.

Again, Kent smacks his flank (and then his ass a few times, because why not) and smirks around the way he says, “Cock-hungry,” again. He squeezes the base of his cock and his balls before fitting a condom on, lubing it up, and working the head in just to feel the way Jack squeezes all around him.

Jack pants, “Oh, fuck,” and then whines, “Kenny,” when Kent works himself deeper, hips flush to Jack’s massive, glorious ass. And then gives a quick little snap of his hips just to finish bottoming out just the way Jack likes it. Jack’s groan gets muffled into the pillow as his elbows give out.

“Just what you’ve been wanting, right?” Kent asks, smoothing a hand down the stretch of Jack’s spine. Talking keeps his mind off of the fact that he already wants to let loose and pound Jack’s ass, finesse and technique be damned. “Can’t go a whole day without getting a dick in your ass. Bet you’d cry if you didn’t.”

In answer, Jack sobs a loud noise into the pillows and then turns his head to the side, back and shoulders flexing as he tries to get Kent to move.

“Alright, alright,” Kent soothes, “Love how you get so greedy for it, baby.” He uses Jack’s hips as a handhold and gives a firm snap of his own hips, delighting in the way it makes Jack gasp and groan and struggle up onto shaky elbows for a different angle. The arch of Jack’s spine, the dimples above his ass, everything about the sight is just about too much for Kent to handle – so he grabs a rough handful of Jack’s ass, squeezes his eyes shut, and pounds away. 

Whatever he’s doing, because Kent’s already too far gone to worry about things like sophistication or whether Jack comes, must result in the perfect angle because Jack howls and squeezes down so tight that Kent groans, loud and pained, up at the ceiling.

He loosens his grip, grits out a, “ _Fuck_ ,” and slaps Jack’s ass just about as hard as he can to get Jack to do it again. Jack doesn’t disappoint. He rarely ever does, honestly, and it’s enough to have Kent slowing to a stop, bracing an elbow against Jack’s back as he wipes sweat out of his eyes. 

Jack just gives another squeeze, like he’s asking, “ _Why’d you stop?_ ” and wordlessly whines until Kent digs his fingers into Jack’s ribs. Collapsing, laughing, Jack cries out for Kent to stop tickling him.

“Then shut up and take what I give you, greedy asshole,” Kent says around a helpless giggle, trying to catch his breath even as he smiles into Jack’s skin. “Speaking of…” He snorts a little to himself, because he’s goddamn hilarious, and then thumbs at where they’re connected, really feeling it when Jack’s hole twitches. Kent pulls back far enough to get a look at it, tugging his lip between his teeth at the way the lube glistens and it’s all red and kinda used looking. Kent can’t really stop himself from rocking his hips forward a bit. “Goddamn.”

Groaning, Jack shifts around a bit and grinds back into the cradle of Kent’s hips, giving a broken, “Yeah,” like he agrees with the sentiment. And then he demands, “ _Harder_ ,” because he’s – 

“Such a needy little slut, Zimms,” Kent says, even as he’s giving Jack just what he wants, “I swear.”

Jack cries out, trembling, and comes all over himself and Kent’s sheets.

“Jesus. Now look at what you did, babe,” Kent says, slowing down so he can hold Jack through the way he shakes. “Made a mess. Ought to make you – _ah_ , fuck – lick it clean.” Jack whines, clenching down on Kent’s cock, and Kent has to laugh, a little hysterical at the thought. “But, fuck, you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

Nodding, whining, all flushed and clenching his fists in the sheets, Jack looks a little wild once Kent gets back to fucking him, chasing his own orgasm.

He’s told Kent a million times about how it hurts when Kent keeps fucking him after he’s come, he gets so sensitive, and a tiny ( _huge_ ) part of Kent delights in the way Jack starts squirming and choking on sobs when Kent keeps right on fucking him deep and hard and a little slower than Jack likes. So, Kent likes to savor it. Sue him. 

Kent misses Jack’s prostate for a stretch of thrusts and then nails it, laughing, even as he starts to come, at the way Jack shouts and shivers. It’s pretty much his favorite thing.

Giving a few weak thrusts, Kent flops down onto Jack’s sweaty back just because Jack hates it so much. Jack groans, but it’s only half-hearted, and doesn’t bother to roll Kent off of him, so Kent counts it as a win. “Fuck yeah,” Kent breathes, and then starts laughing again because, fuck it, he’s high off of endorphins and Jack’s magical ass. He’s allowed to be happy.

“Ugh,” Jack grumbles against the pillow, “Your laugh is dumb.”

“Your _face_ is dumb.”

“Your –” Jack bites down on whatever he was going to say and instead huffs a sigh and then says, “Kenny, I’m in the wet spot.”

Rolling his eyes and shifting off of Jack, Kent smacks at his hip and says, “Quit your whining, ya big baby.”

Kent very nearly loses his grip on the condom and sends it spilling over Jack’s thigh, but catches it at the last second while Jack’s busy scooting out of his own mess and -- wow, Kent has to smash down the urge to shove Jack’s face in it. That’s, uh. A little weird.

Well. Maybe not, after everything they’ve been doing. But maybe it’s the kind of thing he should probably talk to Jack about first. Eric too, maybe. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders why they haven’t all kind of sat down and talked this whole thing out, because it’s not exactly a normal relationship to have with – 

“Kenny,” Jack says quietly, hand flopping heavily onto Kent’s thigh. “You gonna throw that away?”

Shaking himself out of it, rolling his eyes at himself, Kent gets up and tosses the condom, goes to the bathroom (ignoring the apple pie smell and the purple-stained tub) to wet a wash cloth for Jack. It lands with a wet thwack on Jack’s abs when Kent tosses it his way. It’s probably a little colder than Jack likes, but if he’s going to whine about it then Jack can get it himself next time. When Kent says as much, Jack’s cheeks go pink and his cheek tucks in like he’s biting at it to keep from smiling. 

 

*

 

Later, after actually napping and finishing up the laundry and eating bowls of cereal in bed and debating on whether to get in another work out or just watch some Breaking Bad, Jack snuggles up next to Kent on the couch where he’s scritching at Kit’s chin.

It’s gotten dark out, but Kent’s too lazy to lean over and hit the lamp, so he can’t really tell Jack’s looking at him until he speaks.

“You know I’m yours all the time, right? Not just when I’m here.” 

Kent chokes on spit and then yelps when Kit digs her claws into his thigh. She’s still purring though, so he’s pretty sure he’s forgiven. “Um. What?” he asks Jack. Because this sounds suspiciously like a talk about feelings that might deserve capital letters, and Kent’s pretty sure that Walter White shouldn’t bring that out in Jack. Skyler, maybe, but definitely not Walt.

Jack keeps his voice quiet, only louder than the TV because he’s sitting so close, but it’s clear that he’s been thinking about this for some time when he says, “I need you, Kent. Same as I need Eric, just...different. I need you to tear me down so he can build me back up, if that makes any sense.”

And Kent – 

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. Because he’s had capital letter-worthy feelings about Jack for a long time and. That’s a lot to hear. To _process_. Right now, anyway. Maybe after some sleep or an entire bottle of wine, Kent’ll be able to return that with what he’s been dying to say for years, but –

“Are you...crying?”

“Fuck off,” Kent says roughly, _wetly_ , ugh, “I’m allowed to have emotions, okay?”

Jack’s eyes are all wide and shining, reflecting the light from the TV, and. He’s just so much. He _means_ so much, to Kent. He lets Kent get away with so much and pushes back just enough to let Kent know that it’s not entirely unwanted and isn’t afraid at all to -- no, fuck it. 

“I, uh,” Kent says, trying to clear the strain from the brief wave of emotions, “Clearly I need you, too.” He laughs a little, trying to ease the tension, the concern out of Jack’s expression. “Who else would put up with me the way you do?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jack says, leaning his head onto Kent’s shoulder.

“No, just – you’re pretty great, you know?” Kent says, lifting his arm to get Jack to tuck in even closer.

They’re silent for a little bit, content for the moment to just bask in the awfulness that is Walter White, laughing intermittently and snuggling close enough for Kent to hear it when Jack says, “Yeah. You’re not so bad yourself.” And then he steals Kit out of Kent’s lap and heads off into the kitchen, coming back out with a full water bottle and a smirk.

 

*

 

Kent’s dreaming about stage-side seats at a Beyoncé concert when he’s startled awake by the insistent way Jack’s moving against him. Kent just tightens his arms and roughs out, “Piss in my bed and I’ll fucking hit you.”

It probably says a lot about them when Jack just laughs and grabs Kent’s wrist, dragging it down to make Kent press down low on his stomach, and says, “Yeah? How hard?”

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is clearly just fanfiction, come on now. I don't own anything aside from the words written herein. Also, I'm sorry I made the characters do these things.
> 
> As always, comments/questions/concerns are welcome on my [writing blog](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)!


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